


Love Belt

by LKChoi



Category: SHINee
Genre: Child Abuse, Depression, Domestic Violence, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exploitation, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild torture, POV First Person, Psychological Drama, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sasaeng Fan(s), Stockholm Syndrome, Suspense, Thriller, Unreliable Narrator, jongkey - Freeform, jongtae - Freeform, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LKChoi/pseuds/LKChoi
Summary: I once saw a galaxy in his eyes, and he was the brightest star at its center. Now he was a black hole, devoid of anything but an intense force that pulled me deeper into him. An endless vortex of the unknown that was forcing me down into darkness. Becoming all that I knew and all that I would ever need.My space. My existence. My everything.…Prompt: Wearing a long sleeve shirt under a short sleeve shirt was not something fashionable people did in real life. For a photo shoot selling a product targeted at people who could only spend their parents’ money? Sure, but never would a sane person actually commit such a crime according to their own free will.Major themes/genre: Unreliable narrator & thrillerPairing: Taemin x Jonghyun





	1. CHAPTER 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created for entry into the Seasonal Swirl Writing Contest on AFF. I feel like I missed the mark on the prompt miserably lol. However, it did afford me the opportunity to write a very strong story, maybe even one of my strongest yet. There was a challenge they gave me, and I do feel like there’s a chance I met that well enough at least. I’ll take responsibility and submit this story regardless, especially out of appreciation for the organizer, whose contest got me writing again. Thank you to the contest organizer for the prompt and I hope you all enjoy reading 
> 
> WARNING: Trigger warnings include stalking, psychological disorders, kidnapping, drug use, non-con, death, domestic abuse and some other sketchy things. Basically, this shit is crazy O_O! You have been adequately warned lol.
> 
> Scavenger Hunt? - There are a shit-ton of song references in this fic. A lot of which refer to specific songs, lyrics and even performances from both Jonghyun and Taemin’s song repertoires. Most of them are painfully obvious, while others are subtle or paraphrased. See if you can spot them all ^_- lol
> 
> DEDICATION – The completion of this story was thanks in part to the patience, honesty and enthusiasm of my Beta Readers: SHIN33ee and K. Van Hellsing. Without you two, I would have surrendered to my anxiety ages ago. The story is done and I think very powerful due to your efforts. I am grateful to you guys for putting up with my craziness. Thank you for your contributions and I love you guys-----❤!!!!

It’s hard for me to begin, because I don’t want this to end. Rather, it simply can’t. I don’t accept that possibility. Just the thought of being apart from my love makes me weep. We’re tied together by the red string of fate, its thick silk thread fastened tightly to our wrists. It pulled him towards me, and me, to him. In this isolated space, a realm I created just for us; we can finally be together. With my laptop running at full battery, sitting across the room from him, I will tell our love story before we disappear into our promised forever.

I should tell you how we got to this point. I hope he stays quiet while I recollect. It’ll be hard to focus on writing if I have to tighten the straps or switch back to duct-tape again. He bit me when I tried feeding him earlier, so I had to gag him. He’s groaning around it, his face beaded with sweat, gluing his messy black fringe to his forehead. Brown eyes brimming with rage, fixed to me as I type. I fear my usual pace will suffer greatly by the tempting distraction. But the sting of the open wound, and his hot mouth clamped onto my hand is still such a fresh sensation. He drew blood, but I refuse to clean it. The sting of the air grazing over it is exhilarating. It will be the momentum that drives me through this story.

Let me resist that twisting of my gut and the thundering of my heart just to tell this tale. You must know what led him to me. You must know all the ways my body and soul craves him. I’ll try to make this quick. My love is waiting.

…

First, a brief introduction. My name is Kim Jonghyun, South Korean native, age 28. Regrettably short yet slender-built. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m handsome, but my looks pale in comparison to the man scowling at me from across the room. God, his beauty is astonishing, even in this disheveled state.

But I digress. I speak lightly and carefully, so I seem soft spoken but I’m actually pretty chatty once a good conversation gets going. As you can tell, I try my best to articulate my thoughts as to not be misunderstood. I think it’s a writer’s habit. Even though I have a potentially good singing voice, I prefer to avoid the spotlight. I’m a behind the scenes kind of guy, which is my actual job. I’m a stylist for SM Entertainment, but occasionally write lyrics on the side. It’s a good living, and dressing countless beautiful people and watching how they shift from celebrity to human on and off stage was intriguing.

Which leads me to how I met Taemin.

In a galaxy of stars, he was the brightest burning sun. And I, a nameless asteroid who floated so close that his flames consumed me.

…

Wearing a long sleeve shirt under a short sleeve shirt was not something fashionable people did in real life. For a photoshoot selling a product targeting people who could only spend their parents’ money? Sure, but never would a sane person actually commit such a crime according to their own free will.

The hideously coordinated outfit was to be fitted to some poor kid who had to pose in front of cameras and act like it was the best thing he ever wore in his life. The client was described as a dancer with an innocent smile and pretty features. I waited with the make-up artist, my good friend Kibum, as the guy ran a half hour late to the shoot. The annoyance in Kibum’s face was evident.

Many people would consider me lucky to work with one of the big three entertainment companies in the industry. Idols in dressing rooms. Idols being driven in and out of the company garage by managers. Idols roaming the bustling hallways. Lucky? I don’t personally agree. After the first year of fascination and next two years of stress seeing an idol on the job was a mundane experience that killed the creative passion that brought me there in the first place.

“These miserable kids.” sneered Kibum, adjusting his make-up in the mirror.

“It’s alright Ki-goon.” I consoled him. “There’s still time.” 

“Gawd,” He whined in dramatic English, profusely dabbing on his foundation. “The anxiety is showing. I’m getting wrinkles working for this company.”

At this point Kibum was primarily ranting to himself, having a back and forth banter with his own reflection. Something about how self-entitled idols are. How the staff have lives that are put on hold to cater to them. I don’t entirely disagree with him, which is another reason why my passion had been dwindling.

The work had been so draining that I started to forget why I pursued my career path. My writing was suffering. I hadn’t been able to put feelings into my work because I had none to give. Work was work. It was money I needed to survive. Money that I used to spend time with nameless lovers while pretending to feel connected. So, there I was again, reading another psychological book. Trying to figure out myself and those around me. Trying to make sense of the apathy. Hoping that something, or someone, would rush into my life and quicken my heart once again.

That was the fateful moment when my muse struck.

The dressing room door flung open. I glanced up from my book and there he was. A skinny young man, panting and coughing as he rested his hands on his thighs. His hair, a thick mess of dyed white, the black roots visible as he hacked looking at the ground. Kibum sucked his teeth and folded his arms when he dropped to his knees and bowed.

“I am Lee Taemin. Sorry for my lateness and take good care of me.” He announced formally.

I sighed and smiled. It was cute how obvious it was that he ran from the parking lot to the studio. Surely the director would be angry, but we needed our idol prepped and in good form. I pulled myself from the couch and went over to him, offering my hand.

“It’s okay.” I chuckled softly. “There’s ample time to get you ready while the other model finishes. Won’t you get up now?”

His shoulders went slack as he took a deep breath before finally gazing up at me. Time stopped when our eyes met. His, brimming with gratitude as he took my hand. Mine, of wonder as the beautiful creature rose to his feet and smiled, allowing me to hold on as I took in all his features. Slightly taller, fine delicate features, soft skin and warm eyes. Perhaps it was the white hair, or the way the light illuminated it from above, but he seemed majestic to me in that moment. The most magical creature I’d ever encountered.

I barely had enough time to bask in the moment before more staff rushed in after him. No time for talking. No time for shy hellos and name exchanges. No time to revel in the magic of love at first sight. The director was waiting. Make him beautiful. Dress him properly. Lights. Camera. Action.

But it’s impossible to give artificial divinity to a creature so close to God.

…

A muffled groan drew my attention back to him. His head was tossed back and he fidgeted in his seat to draw my attention. I left the document open and went to him, carefully removing the gag. A thin string of saliva dragged from it, drizzling down his chin as he gasped for air. I watched him cough and spoke once he stopped.

“Taebaby, what’s wrong?”

“I-I’m…” He struggled to say. “Thirsty. Please just, something to drink? I promise, I’ll be good. I won’t bite you again, and I won’t scream. Please.”

His lips were chapped and his mouth was dry. It had been an hour or two since the time he bit me. I wanted to punish him more for that, but I decided against it. I had something else in mind. He flinched when I touched his cheek, trembling as I stroked it gently with my thumb. I pressed a kiss to his forehead and smiled down at him.

“Okay. Be right back.”

 I returned with a cold glass of water and stood before him. He watched as I took a sip, then another, then another. I could see it. His growing anxiety as I drank more. The dread as the glass emptied. He darted his tongue out and I stopped with the tip of the glass at my lips, watching with hooded eyes as he wet his own. The water felt so good as the last of it filled my mouth and he groaned miserably.

But he knew, when I sat the glass down and tipped his chin up what I wanted. He knew, in spite of his disgust, that he was on the edge of depravity. And I knew, the moment our lips parted against each other’s, just how good it would feel to quench his thirst.

A chill ran down my spine as he struggled forward, unable to leave the chair but trying so hard to get more of what I had to give. Before I knew it, my hands were in his hair, gripping the strands hard as I pulled him into me. He drank what he could, sucking the wetness from my lips as I melted in the warmth of our connection.

He needs me. He’s mine. I’m his lifeline. And he is mine. The chaos was starting again. The thoughts that drove me to search for reassurance in what I was doing. Yes, it was right to have him here. We needed each other. No one would ever understand. Not unless I complete this memoir.

He gasped as I pulled away, his breath coming out in erratic pants as he savored the drink he was given. I had to let go, and I had to get back to my laptop. Our time is precious. But you have to understand! I’ll make you understand.


	2. Chapter 2

It had to be fate, or something like it. Perhaps even something more powerful.

It wasn’t a surprise when SM commissioned me to write a song. A melancholy ballad that could drown you in despair on a rainy day. A hapless love song full of fluttering feelings that reflected the warmth of a lover’s kiss. Trivial emotions that were easy to put into words but harder to feel. To me it was money. Just another song for some nameless idol.

That is, until they informed me that it was for Taemin.

Fast doesn’t begin to describe how quickly I got to the company building that day. Morning routine done in a flash. A thermos full of very bitter coffee that I should have put more creamer in. My laptop for work and its charger bumping around in the passenger seat as I flew over speed bumps.

It had been a month since we first met and I couldn’t get him out of my mind. It wasn’t the first time I met an attractive person, or a pretty boy, or an idol for that matter. But there was something about him, something I still can’t quite put into words. I just had to know more. It was my job to know who was who under SM’s management after all, but I’d fallen off of that some time ago.

The opposite could be said about Taemin.

Videos, pictures, discography, random known facts. I dug up everything and anything the internet and his fandom had to offer. I ate, slept and drank his music. I memorized his choreography after repeatedly watching my favorite live stages too much. His laugh. His smile. I knew it all. And as an SM employee, who now had the opportunity to work with him; I was beyond excited to learn more.

When we met in the conference room I didn’t let any of that show. I’m a professional after all. It was actually a surprise that my presence was even requested. Typically, I just had to write the song and send an email. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

Taemin hummed the composition to “Already” while studying the lyric sheet in his hands. I sat with hands folded, admiring his contemplative expression as he sat there studying the words. It was hard to think about anyone else in the room, or even the fact that the room existed. I couldn’t hear myself breathe, but knew I was struggling. Couldn’t feel my heart beat, but knew it was racing. Then he gazed up at me in shock.

“Are you, sure I can have this song?” He asked innocently.

“I don’t see why not.” I shrugged.

“Well I…” He looked back at the paper with a sad expression, as if it was hurting to just hold onto it. “I’m not sure if I could sing a song like this. Like, if my voice is mature enough to convey something this tragic.”

“That’s all the more reason why you should.” His manager interjected. “This will be on your first full-length album. It’s good that not only your promotion, but the entire album makes a statement. I think with this song you certainly will. Jonghyun wrote this song for us with you in mind. He’s a huge fan of yours ya know.”

“Really?” He asked shyly, scratching the back of his head. I rested my chin in my palm and shrugged again.

“Not _that_ big.” I lied.

Of course, I was screaming internally, hiding the urge to leap across the table and pledge my undying love for him. His hair was its natural black again, shaped in a messy bowl-cut that made him seem far almost adolescent. It tossed around loosely and fell in place whenever he played with it, a habit I noticed from watching a lot of clips. He didn’t notice me in the crowded elevator standing behind him that morning. Too preoccupied reading something off his phone. In that rare closeness, I took a deep breath, inhaling the soapy scent of his hair. He must have just washed it before coming to work. A few stealthy sniffs along the back of his neck. I knew the brand of his body wash. I used it myself. I swear I could still smell it from across the table. Digressing. I was digressing. I composed my thoughts and kept speaking.

“I do think you can sing my song well, so I would be honored if you did.”

He stared at me for a long moment with a confused look on his face, as if the wheels in his brain were grinding as they turned. Taemin was very expressive. Nothing he felt was ever hidden. Right now, he was searching my face..

“I’m sorry but, have we met?” He finally asked after an eternal minute of staring at me.

“No.” I lied with a smirk. “I’m flattered that you think so. I’m often told I have one of those faces.”

“Ah, is that what it is.” He nodded slowly. “Well, either way, I’m flattered you feel that way about my singing.”  

When Taemin stood up, his manager did as well. I followed his action, getting up from my seat as he bowed slightly and offered me his hand. I bowed and accepted it. Static jolted my nerves, and I found myself warmed all over by his soft hand. I held it firmly, smiling at him as he smiled back at me.

“Thank you Jonghyun-ssi. I’ll do my best to perform your song well.”

“I’m sure you will, Taemin-ssi.”

…

For the rest of the day; I didn’t wash that hand. It was as if he was with me as I started up my car, cupping my hand as I inserted the keys into the ignition. We shared my dinner, taking turns sucking every little digit, not missing a single trace of sauce. And that night, he helped pump every bit of frustration out of my cock, gripping the shaft tightly, teasing the head with his thumb.

“Taemin-ah…” I huffed out, the familiar melody of “Ace” filling my bedroom as I watched him move to it sensually.

“Cum for me Hyung.” He begged me, staring at me through the screen as he waved his hips, his phantom hand still working me.

I tossed my head to the side, my cheek flushed against the wet pillowcase. I pinched my nipple tighter and thrusted up into my fist as I waited for myself to unravel completely. I knew it was coming. The breathless words at the end of the song that I knew would destroy the last of my senses.

_“Talking ‘bout what I know about. That I’m gonna ace this just…”_

With that one last breath; I was undone. That sigh left me trembling, gushing into my hand and streaking my abdomen, panting as my orgasm pulsed through my body.

That wasn’t the first time I got off to Taemin, and it wasn’t going to be the last. He had no clue. Didn’t even know who I was until that day, But I knew I loved him, and I knew that he loved me. He just didn’t realize it yet.      


	3. CHAPTER 3

Something very trivial drew me away from my work. An insignificant need that at some point in a day all humans have to adhere to. The need to empty my bladder.

I gazed up at Taemin from the computer screen. After all that defiance, even in that compromising position; he managed to fall asleep. I went over to him and studied his face. Surely, he had to suspect that sleeping in my presence was careless. I wondered if he passed out from the lack of food. Either way, this allowed me to take a moment to dismiss myself, so I took it.

The distance between us grew by the second. One creak after another as I ascended the basement stairs. One slide after another as I dragged my feet across the carpet of the house. One silent step after another as I made it up to the second floor. Just the simple act of stepping into the tiled room pushed me back into an intimate memory.

I wonder. Had it not occurred, would I feel so desperate to go through with this plan now?

…

“Press It” was an undeniable success, topping charts with the double title hits “Drip-Drop” and “Press Your Number”. It was making headlines as the new charismatic Taemin showed sides of himself never seen before. The light of my angel snuffed out by a superficial puppet. A Taemin that no one knew existed. A Taemin that could only be a lie.

After that meeting, my need to be closer to him was unbearable. Watching him through a screen wasn’t enough. It felt like observing the Sun through a telescope, it’s brilliance a mere yellow dot that the eye could barely see. Nothing could compare to floating in the deep abyss of space. Choking from the lack of oxygen. Floating so close that the light seared my retinas. Pulled in by a magnetic force, the heat increasing as it consumed me.

Taemin’s light emanated even in the darkness of this filthy world. I needed to be filled with it. I thought that would be my chance to soak up the sun.

The walls of the dark room throbbed as music blared through ceiling high speakers. Bodies bumped, swayed and grinded to the rhythm, driven by the buzz of alcohol or any other number of substances crammed into their systems. Blue, green and red lasers shot from the DJ booth, striking through the glass and creating little moving dots on our bodies as the VIP section filled with conversation and laughter. The club was rented out, filled with staff who contributed to the album and limited close friends. Taemin was being chatted up by two of his female dancers, whose fake smiles and even faker breasts were highlighted by the glow of the illuminated table littered with food and drinks.

I was there with the excuse of being a lyricist who contributed to the album. However, it was impossible to get close to him. One group of people after another flanked him that night, and now he was trapped between trollop one and two. I drank more Vodka, defeated, trying to fight the chaos in my head spurred on by his presence. This wasn’t good. It was worse. I watched helplessly from across the room as a manicured hand slipped from his knee to his inner thigh. Even as the room swam and the music blasted, a barrage of thoughts nagged at me.  

_A satellite around my sun, hovering like a fly around garbage. She should burn. They all should burn. They’ll flock to another when you turn them away, but not me. I swear by the moon, it’s only you for me. Only you._

Taemin laughed as she whispered in his ear, keeping his hand atop hers as her lips grazed his neck. The forgotten girl glared at them, jealousy contorting her features, before throwing back a shot and stomping out of the room. I sympathized with her disgust, and as I polished off my drink my stomach started to churn. I left the room as well, escaping to a red lit hallway with four doors. Two bathrooms, one emergency exit and a staff room.

To my surprise, Taemin emerged moments later, and I gaped wide-eyed as he came up to me and asked:

“Got a light?”

My mouth went dry but I managed to choke out a reply.

“Sorry. I don’t smoke.”

He made a displeased face and cursed, then patted himself down until he discovered a lighter stashed in his pocket. I followed him out the exit door into the alley, watching as he stuck a loose cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He shoved the lighter back in his jacket then took a long drag of the cancer stick, before letting out a huff of toxic smoke. My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

“Surprised?” He chuckled.

His hair was dyed a more natural shade of blonde, the golden sheen subdued by the weak light over the club door. In my eyes, it reflected his own ethereal light, fading as he continued to consume the nicotine. In his stead was the pretend delinquent from his music video. He was stained by the world. Ruined and filthy; just like me. By filthy people. Filthy words. Filthy substances. And worse, a filthy grin that said he enjoyed every bit of it.

“Smoking is…bad for you.” Was all I could manage to say.  

Taemin laughed hysterically and tossed the cigarette down on the ground. With one bold step the gap between us was closed and the tobacco stick was crushed beneath his heel. He peered down at me and licked his lips, gripping the tip of my chin between his thumb and index finger.  My lips quivered, feet frozen in place by his gaze.

“I smoke because I have an _oral_ fixation.” He stated, lowering his eyelids and moving his mouth to my ear. “Are you gonna give me something else to suck on?”

“Taemin-ssi…“

Taemin pulled back and took my hand, then smiled a deceitfully innocent smile.

“I saw you watching me and I know what you want, Jonghyun. Why don’t we drop titles like idol and lyricist? Just for tonight? We’re just two attractive young men, mutually having a good time. Don’t tell anyone about the smoking, and I promise you won’t regret this.”

My mind was racing, and my heart twice as fast. But faster still, the blood that rushed from my head all the way down to my groin. In that moment, all I could focus on was the hand that pulled me back into the building and into a dingy bathroom. The lips that clamped onto mine and hands that found purchase beneath my shirt. My own tugging at the waistline of unbelievably tight skinny jeans that chafed as we grinded against each other. The vibration of music that pulsed through the walls as the drunken crowd screamed for more.

I once saw a galaxy in his eyes, and he was the brightest star at its center. Now he was a black hole, devoid of anything but an intense force that pulled me deeper into him. An endless vortex of the unknown that was forcing me down into darkness. Becoming all that I knew and all that I would ever need.

My space. My existence. My everything.

…

Just like that I was lost in him again, recalling that night and what we did in that bathroom as the clatter from below almost went unnoticed. As I stopped the faucet I could hear Taemin, panting hurriedly as he fought with the lock of the front door, shouting for help as he did so. He pretended to sleep after all, and was trying to escape. I don’t know how he undid the ropes, nor did I care. He was going to leave me.  I couldn’t let that happen.

My heart raced as I rushed from the bathroom, afraid of the sudden possibility of us being apart again, maybe even permanently if he ran to the police. I couldn’t bare it, not when all I knew now was him. The door shook on its hinges as he fussed with it aggressively, and just as I reached the bottom of the stairs it gave way.

There was something I neglected to mention or acknowledge in my memoir, and now that I’m being confronted with it I know how lost in all of this I really was. I didn’t bring Taemin here alone, and although this place was so familiar: this was not my home.

Taemin fumbled back when the door swung open, probably relieved that someone could finally help him get away. But unfortunately for him, I knew that the man stepping through the door was far worse than I ever could be. A man that grew to hate him, just as much as I grew to love him.

That man was Kim Kibum.   


	4. CHAPTER 4

**Taemin’s POV**

I thought I knew fear.

As a kid, I knew I wanted to be a dancer. I wasn’t allowed to go into the garage, but every night when my step-father left for work I’d do it anyway.  Mom was too high to love me anymore, so I found a high of my own. The rhythm. The base. The vibrations. But one day, the music was too euphoric to stop. I finally found my flow, and my movements made sense, and I popped and locked and just kept moving. Mom watched, staring right through me off into oblivion with that dead look in her eyes, as he beat me. Knocked me back down to earth. He almost broke my legs.

I thought I knew anxiety.

Going to school was a societal obligation. It was enough to lessen the beatings, because for at least a few hours; I didn’t have to be home. One day, I found a flyer on the bulletin board at school. It was a call for auditions. SM Entertainment was on the search for new idols. I didn’t care for fame, but I wanted so bad to find my high again. To fly free and escape my cage. I can still hear the squeak of my sneakers as I walked to the center of a large auditorium stage. See the hazy faces of judges, scrutinizing me pass the glare of a beaming spotlight. Feel the thump of the first beat as music started to play. They gave one demand, a blunt order that changed my life forever: “Just dance.”

I thought I knew helplessness

Four years dragged by as I trained, and now it was my time to pay back their investment. My debut came and went in a flash. I was a fresh new idol, the pretty Dance Machine Lee Taemin, well worth their money. But in reality, it just meant that I was another lamb at the slaughterhouse. Faceless men wanted to meet me. To touch me, and sometimes, to take me. My manager told me to abandon who I used to be. Be quiet and do as I’m told. I’ll never be able to pay it all back if I don’t. He promised I didn’t have to go back home to the beatings. He promised it was temporary, just to ensure my future. So, I sacrificed myself to keep my wings. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror anymore, but now I could fly as high as SM could take me. Nothing else mattered anymore.

But here I was; afraid, anxious and caged again. Trapped in a basement by some crazed fanboy. I don’t know if it was because of the song he gave me, or that bathroom quickie, but Kim Jonghyun is fucking crazy over me. And this guy, his housemate or whoever he is, who I so helplessly thought could be my savior, was grinning at me with a twisted look in his eyes that doesn’t feel right at all.

I threw caution to the wind, in spite of the sneaking suspicion that things were only about to get worse. Quickly I leapt forward, throwing myself at his feet, clinging desperately to his pantleg. Maybe my words would mean nothing, but fuck if I wasn’t going to at least try.

“H-help me.” I pleaded as he stared down at me. There was no surprise in his face, as if finding a strange possibly victimized man in his home was a norm. He let me cling on and casually pushed the door shut behind him. The thud made my heart sink. It was a sound that confirmed that there was no hope for me. That even if I screamed right now, no sound could ever penetrate that door.

I was probably doomed. This was hopelessness like I never knew before. But goddamnit if I’m not a fighter! I didn’t survive the beatings at home or the exploitation by my company just to simply accept this fate. If there was a sliver of a chance that this man wasn’t part of Kim Jonghyun’s psychotic plan, then I was taking it.

“Your friend is crazy!” I proclaimed in a shaky voice, hating the vulnerability in it. “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know what this is but please! Please help me!”

“Taemin-ah…”

The sound of my name on his lips was sickening. The taste of the water he had forced into me was sickening. The hurt in his voice was a mockery to the pain throbbing through my body from the restraints. It’s a good thing my step-dad was inhumane. I learned to get out of those kinds of restraints a long time ago. On top of that, he was clearly an amateur. I just needed him to slip up once. To think he was so conceited to actually sit and type away at a computer while I was bound. The guy was a joke.

But the man looming over me wasn’t. There was a certainty in the way he glanced down at me that said he saw this coming. He knew what he would find when he entered that door, and I, being the victim here, didn’t know how much worse it could get until he looked at Jonghyun one more time and started to laugh. At first it was a low rumble, coming out in short huffs muffled by his hand, as if to muffle it during what was meant to be a quiet moment. Then it evolved and exploded, and he was a body shaken by glee, slapping his thighs and clenching his eyes shut as if it was the most hilarious thing he ever witnessed.  After a minute of hilarity, he wiped away a tear that probably never existed and smiled down at me.

“You poor kid.” He said sweetly, mockingly. “You really don’t know how screwed you are. But it’s no matter to me. I’m just gonna need you to be quiet a minute.”

His fist came down suddenly, blindingly, and struck the side of my skull. I was stupefied by the force, not expecting a man with such a small frame to summon such power. But I was deprived of food for so long, and my limbs didn’t listen to my command to fight. So, I went down easy, planted flat on the floor, stuck staring at the shocked expression of the man who brought me to this crazy house. The world was blurring. I wasn’t out completely but I couldn’t respond. I could only watch and listen.

“Kibum-ah, why?”

“Don’t you get it now Jonghyun?” He growled at him. “You see how desperate he was to get away from you? That isn’t love. You’re crazy if you think this kid could ever love you the way I do. I helped you play out your little drama to prove that you.”

“You’re wrong!” Jonghyun cried. “He needs me. We need each other. There’s no room for you. Just let me go. Let me leave.”

“Never!”

His loud booming voice struck my ear, which jolted and awakened the pain from his punch and spread all over my head. I felt like my brain would implode and leak out of my ear and spill out onto the floor. I groaned. I couldn’t help myself and Kibum took notice. He scowled down at me as if I was a bug in his soup, ruining a perfectly good meal.

“Fuck.” He cursed, and then disappeared from my field of vision.

Immediate panic replaced the pain as Jonghyun went down on his knees pleading.

“Don’t do this. Please…”

Kibum didn’t reply. Jonghyun was frozen where he sat, as if it was impossible to muster the courage to defy him. He was afraid, maybe even more than I was. I couldn’t help the growing dread as I questioned what that could mean. What kind of man was he? And what kind of danger am I really in?

Silence and anxiety as his footsteps disappeared somewhere near me. Silence and agony as the pain hit me again and I felt a wetness crawl through my hair, down my temple and over my brow. Silence and dread as Jonghyun’s face faded in a blurry crimson image as blood trickled from my skull into my eye, flooding my sight.

Then suddenly I felt pressure on my back. Kibum sat on me, dropping his full weight into the center of it, sliding his forearm beneath my jaw; trapping my neck between his forearm and bicep. I gasped as he pulled back his wrist with his other hand, applying added pressure as I clawed at the floor in futile desperation. My own choking cries started to fade, and all I could feel was the powerful ache on the side of my head as the world lost its solidity.

I was losing consciousness quickly, but in the haze of darkness I could hear a pitiful sound. Someone was crying, howling my name as if I was already dead. It must have been Jonghyun. The most fucked up thing? It was the first time in all my life that someone had ever cared enough to cry over me. Some part of me took comfort in his mournful sobs as I slipped away, wondering what madness would greet me when I woke up.


	5. CHAPTER 5

When I was a kid, (a long time before my mother started to use dope and married the man who became my father and tormentor); there was something she told me when sending me off to catch the school bus.

_Go with your gut Honey. A test answer, a new friend, or even what you want from the vending machine: doesn’t matter what it is. Just go with it. It can mean the difference between life and death._

And boy was she right.

A hypocrite maybe, since she probably ignored her own advice when she started seeing signs in that man. But right nonetheless. It was my gut that told me to run away, leaving her behind with her life decisions. It was my gut that told me to go for the SM audition.

And it was my gut that warned me to stay away from Kim Jonghyun.

But that night was particularly hazy. I chewed away three packs of gum and smoked through an entire box of cigarettes. And for one reason or another, I decided that I could get a hold of something far better than either.  We exchanged numbers after our bathroom romp. It was odd for me, but I felt compelled to do it. I tried blaming it on the oral fix I needed to satiate. I tried to blame it on pure boredom. But it was entirely something different, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time: curiosity.

Why was he crying? What was he whispering? Why did he treat our dirty deed like a sacred ritual?

I wasn’t a bird flying through the skies towards a warming sun. I was a moth drawn to something brilliant; an enraged fire that meant my destruction.

So, when he called me out I thought nothing of it and crammed the gut feeling to the back of my mind. I would get my fix and my answers, maybe even more. I’d spent the entire month flying, riding the success of my first full album. Soaring through the skies. But now I wanted something I could easily reach, something perfectly human. We met in secret, but I didn’t expect for him to apologize, while smiling, or the darkness that followed.   

...

I felt weightless. Like the world around me was made of nothing but intangible clouds. Clouds that would dissolve like cotton candy if I dared to touch them. No solidity. No stability. Boundless.

More than that; it was warm. Warm like a fleece blanket wrapped around bare skin during a cold front. Warm like the feeling at the pit of your stomach when that first splash of coffee hits it after you’ve carefully taken a sip. Warm like the focused spotlight beating down on you as your song starts to play and the entire audience disappears behind it.

Then, suddenly, as if the clouds separated and Zeus struck me directly with one of his beloved thunderbolts: there was a powerful surge of pain. Pain like I’d forgotten that such a thing could exist, awakening my nerves and alarming me that the hurt was entirely real. The clouds left me. The weightlessness left me. But the warmth and the pain remained. Pain that struck the side of my head and shook the very core of my mind. And the warmth, vibrantly pulsing through my entire body. I moaned, screamed, maybe both. I don’t know. I felt my lips move, rationalized that sound came out, but couldn’t process the pitch.

I was falling out of the dreamlike oblivion and crashing back down to Earth, being reminded that I was in no fantasy. I was waking up, slowly recollecting pieces of what had happened. The call I got from the bathroom fuck that I was dumb enough to reply to. The darkness that followed some strange apology from the man. The dank smell of an unknown, enclosed and stuffy location. The smile of a man whose eyes were clouded by a fantasy that he wanted to make real. The shrill laugh of another man that was far more frightening than any dying scream I’d ever heard in a movie.

 _I should have gone with my gut_. I thought bitterly, followed by some grisly humor that was distasteful but probably an accurate prediction. _Ya, Lee Taemin. You impulsive idiot. Wouldn’t it be an ironic lesson learned if you’ve got none left in your whole goddamn body?_  

“No…no no no no…please just…I’ll do anything just, please no.”

 _Damn he cries a lot._ The brat in my brain complained. _The fucking nerve of this guy. After all he’s done._

Blood rushed through my ears and light pooled into my eyes as I slowly and heavily opened them. Jonghyun’s sobs struck my eardrums, like the beating of tribal drums in some foreign deprived country. It amplified the pain in my head. I could feel my temples bursting with irritation, the nerves themselves screaming and begging for the noise to stop or the goddamn light to be turned down. But it instead grew brighter, and as my vision cleared I realized I was gazing up into a ceiling chandelier.

“I’ll show you Jonghyun. I’ll show you just how feeble his love is.”

That man, Kibum, his voice struck a chord in me. Like the skilled pluck of a veteran musician who could make a guitar wail. My body raged with the warmth. Hands stroked my hips and slithered over my chest, then down over my (modest) abs. As this gentle yet possessive process continued I realized there was no obstruction: I had no clothes on! And this man, Kibum, was touching me, and everywhere he touched was ignited, and my body without a doubt was yearning for him to continue. The bottom of my body roused with ache, completely different from the headache. I was horny, and my body savored the touches, loving every caress of his soft hands that sprawled over my chest, lightly grazed hardened nipples and slipped to the sides of my neck.

Warmth. Relentless warmth. Intoxicating warmth.

The chandelier disappeared behind the shadow of his head as we came face to face. My eyes shook and the pain came back as I gaped up at him. His blonde hair glowed from the light above and his eyes weren’t the dead coldness that I had seen the first time.

“Taemin-ah,” He said sweetly, looking almost angelic as he smiled at me. “You feel good, don’t you?”

When his hips moved I felt him, a hard and slicked shaft against the puckered flesh my asshole. Among many other things he probably did while I was out, he had clearly prepped me. because I could feel that hungry clench, willing and wanting so badly to be filled by him.

“Fu…” I rasped, my skin burning where he had previously touched.

Then the switch in his brain flipped to hostile, an angry glint coming to his eyes and his smile dropping flat, He sat up and gripped an angry fistful of my hair on the very side he bashed with his fist. I made a pathetic strangling noise, the only way I could express the intensified pain that seemed to make the room pulse.

Warmth and pain. Heat and pain. Never-ending pain.

I groaned against the pillow, a rush of tears stinging and streaming from my eyes, soaking the cotton as he pushed my head into it. The room turned on its axis as he forced me to stare at the horrified Jonghyun. He had been my captor, yet now he would become a witness. His tears matched mine. His horror matched mine. He was huddled into the corner, not even three feet from the bed, close enough to reach out and touch me if he wanted. But his will seemed shattered and he was just a half-dressed mess of a man, shuddering, badly beaten and holding himself, yet somehow still pleading with Kibum not to go on with what he meant to do.

“Kibummie, please…”

“I’m going to claim and destroy him.” Kibum promised him scornfully, shoving my head harder into the pillow. “He’s going to like it and you’re going to watch. Then, you’ll come back to your senses. You’ll come back to _me_. Then that will be the end of this, and the end of Lee Taemin.”


	6. CHAPTER 6

**Jonghyun’s POV**

_“The End of Lee Taemin.”_

How dreadfully poetic, romantic even. At least it was when I had thought of it myself and aimed to end myself with him. But I didn’t plan this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. My memoir, my suicide note, my final farewell to Kibum: It will never be completed.

So, there I was, helplessly watching as Taemin’s cries turned into breathless moans, still hurting while succumbing to the drug he was given. Kibum plunged into him relentlessly, and he, with weakened limbs, desperately clung to him, the side of his face buried in the pillow, writhing in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

Taemin screamed. He screamed from the pain. He screamed from the pleasure. He screamed because he hated it. He screamed because he loved it. 

I felt like I was screaming too, yet incapable of making any sound except for the pathetic cries already escaping me. My pain came in the form of aching bruises, etching its way beneath my skin, coursing through my veins and digging deep into my heart. My throat hurt and my face was hot and damp from sweat, tears and snot. But Kibum plowed on, and Taemin moaned, and their voices intermingled with the chaos stirring inside my mind.

I sat there quivering, unable to unglue my eyes from the point where their bodies met; yet I knew that in spite of my pain, Kibum would convince me that it was for my own good, and I would foolishly believe him. Tearing me away from Taemin, watching him come undone beneath him: it was to help me. Fleeting emotions. Temporary attachments. Futile obsessions. The will to be anything other than _his._ It was all for naught.

Because in the end, I was nothing without Kibum. I learned that a long time ago. How could I ever forget? The inability to write. The apathy. The chaos. The very definition of “love”: It all started with Kibum.

…

The memory was still so vivid. I immersed myself in it, slipping into the dream and leaving their cries of pleasure far behind me.  

I could still hear the hush of the humid summer rain, feel the slicked guitar strings slipping between my clammy fingers, smell the pungent mildew clinging to my ragged clothes. I’d been on the streets for only two weeks, but the rain and silence of the city made it feel like years. All I had was an old acoustic guitar I salvaged from the garbage and the songs I’d written in my head.

One day, my father, a very stern and conservative businessman, invited an associate and his son over for dinner. Mother cooked the best most vibrant food. My mouth watered and pangs of hunger jabbed at my stomach just thinking about it. That young boy and I became close fast, and in knowing him; I discovered something. Something I had never felt as strongly with women: attraction. During one of the visits we, on pure impulse, decided to explore our curiosity. Both young. Both new to it. Both eager. His father was calling for him. We didn’t hear them coming down the hallway. They caught me on my knees. The rest was history.

Father never truly embraced me as a son to begin with. The wannabe musician and lyricist, not a businessman like he wanted, like most old generation Koreans wanted. I’d been cast out long before I was ever thrown out. Now I was too disgusting to even look at, a plague on his lineage. Disowned and discarded. Mother pleaded, tears streaming down her lovely pale face. There was nothing she could do. So, there I was, wet and abandoned like a stray dog, singing a melodic sensual tune while eyeing a dapper young man calmly sipping his fine wine through a restaurant window.

_“…Oh Suit Up._

_Tight Bowtie._

_Shining cuffs, get rid of them._

_They aren’t needed here….”_

I didn’t expect that young man to come out, umbrella shielding his fine attire, and gracefully stride up to me. He stuck his hand in his pocket and glanced down at me, listening. I stopped for a moment, surprised, but continued just for him. He didn’t leave change in my cup. Instead, he summoned his car and told me to get in. I had nothing. His smile was enchanting. I went without hesitation.

That moment changed my life. Kim Kibum was kind, generous, and nurturing. He sheltered me, handed my songs to some valuable friends, and the next thing I knew I was stable and working for SM. I owed him my life. In time, I had fallen for him just as easily as I had fallen into warm sheets that first night off the streets.

It wasn’t until a year after he took me in, a month after we started sleeping together, that he evolved into someone I didn’t recognize. The excessive messages when I left for work, asking if I talked to this woman or that man, followed by his reassurance that he was just being protective. The sudden coldness that permeated his entire demeanor. The seemingly random tempers, which I was convinced were my fault for no apparent reason.

Then the strange sexual play started, involving restraints and things I’d never encountered before. Then sex parties, where he’d coerce me to take part in activities with other people just for his satisfaction. He was my master now and I was his “Petit” Jonghyun. I didn’t know what that meant but I would soon find out. I felt lost and uncomfortable, but chalked it up to inexperience. I loved him. I owed him everything. I wanted to please him, no matter how extreme or how violent things got.

I had finally managed to save enough to move out, but he summoned me back to the house, claiming he missed me too much. I’d stay there for weeks. He’d leave for days and had his own fun, but he claimed it gave him comfort that I was “home”. I got used to it, his push and pull. Leaving, then coming right back to this house. It was where I belonged now, and even to me, my own apartment felt distorted and scary. I could never truly leave in the end. It was my home. _Kibum_ was my home. My everything.

Years passed like that. A repeated cycle of leaving to be an established Kim Jonghyun, who might have had a chance at something new. Followed by the fear of separation and lack of familiarity that drove me back into his arms. His precious obedient Petite, whom no one could truly love but him. Back to my savior Kibum. It hurt and the voices pushed against it every time. I didn’t know why. Then eventually I felt nothing but apathy and chaos. I couldn’t write anymore. It barely even felt like I was breathing.

I fibbed in my memoir. About him being just my best friend and me being a stylist. I was with him that day, following an order. “Stay close to me” he said. He had a feeling something would set him off, (no surprise to me), so he needed me there to focus his frustrations. There was always some hidden corner. People knew him and wouldn’t snitch. He had videos of what I did with others. He had full control. He later punished me for the mesmerized look in my eyes when Taemin came in. I was too kind, staring for too long. Taemin is what set him off. Yet as he inflicted his punishment, I couldn’t get his angelic face out of my mind.

My fixation on Taemin grew and I hid it from him. I started staying home more often. I needed my privacy to binge watch clips, search for gifs on Tumblr, absorb any and everything that would bring me closer to him and further from Kibum. He found out about it. I slipped up, forgot he had a key to my place and was home for more than three days. Yet there was no rage, no punishment. Instead, he had me express my feelings. Told me to embrace them. I told him that I wanted him so bad. That I had fallen in love with him. I didn’t tell him that I needed him. That my angel Lee Taemin could save me from him. Then that night Taemin came to me at the club, and there was no turning back. Kibum offered to help me, so he did.

Now I know why.

…

“I’m going to claim and destroy him. He’s going to like it and you’re going to watch. Then, you’ll come back to your senses. You’ll come back to _me_. Then that will be the end of this, and the end of Lee Taemin.”

He was claiming him because he could. He’d make him love it to prove his point. He was making me watch as punishment. He would destroy him so I’d learn my lesson. Then I’d realize I should have never turned away from him, and the cycle will repeat again.

Kibum panted, sweat dripping off his brow, eyes closed and lips parted as he huffed heavily into the air. Taemin’s eyes were pools and his mouth remained ajar as he clawed at Kibum’s chest. He was spent and highly alert: the drug had worn off. His face twisted in pain, his head probably throbbing from the earlier abuse. He was weak; starvation and thirst. He was pleading now, which only made Kibum smile. He laughed between pants and thrust harder, and in a matter of minutes he was shaking with his orgasm. Taemin shuddered and Kibum groaned as he pulled out, his seed seeping out of him in a thick translucent flow.

“Nn. Fuck.” Taemin sobbed, shielding his eyes with his forearm, his body trembling as his own cock leaked with his release.

“You make a good toy.” Kibum complimented sardonically, his chest rising and falling as his breathing slowed to a calm. “I bet you did my Petit good when you got him alone.” He turned to me then, his smile dropping flat, his eyes fixed in a glare. “Isn't that right Jonghyun?”

“I..” Choosing my words carefully was crucial. I shook my head quickly. “Nothing compared to you, Master.”

“Of course not.” He replied, expectant of that response. Then, once again, he was smiling. A brilliant smile. A satisfied one. One that after his fits always meant something far worse.

“Doesn’t matter.” He chuckled prettily. “In a matter of moments, there will be nothing to compare. Jonghyun, Baby.” He stressed the last words sweetly and crouched down in front of me, cupping my chin in his hand. My Adam’s apple bobbed against his palm as he pushed further into my neck, making me choke on my sobs. Tears spilled down my face and over his hand. He pressed harder until I struggled to cough, then released me. I gagged on the air I regained and he stood up, grinning down at me.

“You love me, don’t you?” He asked sharply, fiercer than his face displayed.

“Yes. Yes, only you.” I pleaded with him.

“Good Boy.” He praised and ruffled my hair. “Then there’s no point in continuing this little show.”

He walked away, slowly, and made his way to the dresser. I saw him reach for something, heard the scrape of metal against wood, and then he lifted it and my eyes widened. The jagged blade gleamed in the light of countless little bulbs from the chandelier. The reflected lights off the sharp edges danced along his face as he tilted it left and right, taking a moment to admire the delicate craftmanship of the handle in his hand. HIs eyes shot up at Taemin, ignoring me completely as I started to franticly beg, managing to get to my hands and knees. He prowled towards him, animalistic and primal, loving the vulnerability in his prey as Taemin struggled to crawl back against the headboard, panicking as he slowly crossed the room.

“…Then that will be the end of this and the end of Lee Taemin...”

His words never felt as real as they did now. My mind filled with loud chaos, and then: nothing. Only one train of thought emerged. Taemin, _My_ Taemin, would be taken away from me. With a slash of that blade, Kibum meant to destroy my entire world. He had isolated me. He had ruined me. He had crushed me. But I meant to save Taemin from suffering the same thing. At the hands of SM. At the hands of myself. And now, at the hands of the man standing before him, the very same man who had given me everything.

I stopped crying. He was at the foot of the bed. Taemin was recoiling with fear. I stood up, silently and finally calm, with clarity and conviction for what I meant to do. Kibum was my savior. Kibum was my destroyer. But now, more than ever: he was my enemy. 


	7. CHAPTER 7

**Taemin’s POV**

_All I wanted to do was fly._

The room swam with fuzzy images. The chandelier above became a raging flame, flaring and sparking high above us. My own body, a wave of thick tan flesh in undistinguished forms, an incomplete human sculpture. Kibum, a pale-yellow demon, growing larger as he came closer: only his malice solidified.  His words came back in a powerful rush of realization, the message etching its way through my pounding head bringing me back to clarity:

“ _…I’m going to claim him…he’s going to like it…”_

I shuddered at those words. My body throbbed, aching yet satiated. Semen leaked out of me, sliding down the skin of my ass and onto the sheets, leaving a wet, sticky puddle beneath me.  I could still feel him pulsing inside of me, my walls clenching at the void he left. My skin was dotted with goosebumps, chilled in absence of his warm hands all over me. He left a painful impression, but thanks to whatever he gave me, it was also a satisfying one.

I hated myself for what I was feeling. He had raped me, and just as he promised; I liked it. The pain engulfing my head as he pressed me into the pillow. The contradicting pleasure that ripped through me as he sheathed himself inside of me. I was feeling the shock of his abuse, but just as powerfully, the longing throb of the parts of my body he stimulated.

Warmth and pain. Heat and pain. Relentless pleasure and pain!

 I loathed him and his promise. I loathed myself for giving him that satisfaction. And I loathed the laughter erupting from him now.

The room phased into clarity, and his vicious grin was closer than suspected. A spark of light struck my eyes and I scrunched my eyes at the flicker. Then, with terrifying trepidation I realized the flash was light reflecting off a sharp blade that he held in his hand.

_Please. Don’t clip my wings._

Fear rippled through me. Kibum with the blade. My body, weak and weary from this entire ordeal. All I had was the strength to back away, recoil against the headboard as if the wood could come alive and encase me in sturdy protective arms.

But that was impossible. There were no arms. No protection. Just vulnerability and a pathetic cry for help that will never be answered.

I was a child again, backing into a dusty granite corner, my step-father’s shadow growing as he raised a metal bat clutched in his shaky hands. I was a teenager again, backed against rough leather cushions, with two drooling politicians reaching greedy wrinkly hands towards me. My legs throbbed. The bat. He broke a bone! My body tremored. Their hands. They’re everywhere! Lights danced off the blade. He’s coming! He’s gonna kill me!

 _You fucking idiot!_ That brat again, the survivor. _Do something!_

I grit my teeth, willing my body to come out of the shock: it wasn’t working! My arms shook more when I put them beside me and buckled when I tried pushing up with all my might. A terrible ache echoed painfully in my thigh, stiffening during my attempt to bend my leg and dig my feet into the mattress.

_The fuck did he give me? Bastard!_

His laughter echoed and bounced off the walls of my mind, reverberating through me like volcanic ash bubbling and boiling as it prepares to erupt. Warmth and pain. Heat and pain. Fear and helplessness. His voice exploded with what felt like enough force to move the entire world:

“ _I’m going to…destroy him… Then that will be the end of this, and the end of Lee Taemin.”_

Kibum was that delirious drunk wielding the bat. Kibum was those men whose greedy hands clutched each arm. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut, body screaming to move but fear making it static. Here comes the bat. Here comes the first thrust. Brace yourself for impact. No one will save you.

But then: nothing happened.

There was a beastly growl that escaped Kibum and the sound of rustling feet. The bed shook, the headboard crashing against the wall as I heard the sounds of a struggle. When I opened my eyes, his face was twisted in a scowl. He lurched forward, his arm bulging with the knife raised in the air towards me, clutched around it still while Jonghyun’s hand was clasped on top of it. His other hand gripped the sheets and yanked, but Jonghyun was hunched behind him, trying to pry the knife from his hand.

“Jonghyun…you ungrateful…”

“Taemin-ah, wait for…me...”

 _Didn’t you hear me the first time you fucking coward?!_ A panicked voice in my head screamed. _Fucking RUN!!!_

The bed rocked again as Jonghyun and Kibum struggled over the knife, exchanging angry words as they did so. I couldn’t make sense of it, but the last thing I wanted to do was stick around to investigate. No time to focus on how much my tired muscles throbbed. No time to focus on my legs feeling like Jell-O. No time to fumble with the locks like a cowardly idiot like last time. I had to get out of there.

This time, survival trumped fear. My legs moved when I pulled them away from the edge of the bed and kicked them out sideways. My arms pushed me from my seated position. I rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor, groaning loudly as the impact echoed through my body. Tears burned my eyes and I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood and direct the pain to the tender tissue, distraction enough to get me to my knees.

They were arguing still and the headboard banged against the wall again. Someone cursed, pain riddling their voice. It didn’t matter to me. The door was in sight, white and beaming like a lit passageway to Heaven. I climbed to my feet on wobbly legs, panting with my hands on my naked thighs, eyes fixed to the door. There was a noise behind me and words murmured that I couldn’t make out. My focus was on the door. My freedom. My wings.

I stumbled forward, taking a step with my left foot. For a moment, I had found the first glimmer of real hope since this craziness began. It would be tough with all the pain and weariness, but I could make it. I could get away from them. And then maybe…

Suddenly, my right foot was grabbed from behind, and when I looked back Kibum was on his knees, grinning as he held onto it. I shrieked and yanked it away, but lost my footing in the process. With a loud thud and a painful landing; I was on the floor again, wailing as my body screamed with ache. I gripped at the floor desperately, managing to push off of it again and turn, just for him to grip at my legs, trapping them when I was on my back. I howled and threw my head back as he pressed into them, then let them go and climbed up my body.

“You…little worm.” Kibum said in a vicious raspy voice, his feline eyes shaking angrily. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

It was then that I spotted Jonghyun, his legs at least, sprawled out on the floor behind my view of Kibum, who was crawling up my torso, his shadow starting to block out the ceiling light.

“Nothing!” I shouted back fearfully. “I don’t even know him. He’s crazy. You’re _both_ crazy.”

“You lying piece of trash,” he hissed. I moved my hands to grab at him, throw him off if my will could speak for my strength, but quickly his hands gripped my throat.  I gasped and grabbed at his hands, my legs flailing in a panic beneath him.

“I knew it when I saw that atrocious outfit.” He seethed, not yet tightening but still holding me in place as I try to pry his strong hands off me. Half my brain was in a frenzy, cowering and marveling at his strength. The other half was questioning what he was saying.

_Outfit? What the hell is he-?_

“You people are all the same. Self-entitled brats who have everyone wrapped around their privileged little fingers. You had the nerve to be late. I knew I didn’t like you then. But oh, now I know you’re just a piece of work entirely!”

_Late? An atrocious outfit…_

Anger was a flame igniting in his eyes, and as the embers licked at my fear I remembered that very same look.

The photobook shoot was scheduled for 9am, but last minute it was bumped to 8. My manager ran around like a chicken with his head cut off, shoving me into the van once all our things were gathered. I ran as fast as I could when he parked. Still late I was compelled to apologize. I’ve met so many stylists and make-up artists that their faces are usually a blur, but I remembered Kibum. I remembered thinking he was pretty enough to be an idol himself. I remembered his fake smile. I remembered feeling a split second of malice and seeing a glint of it flash in his eyes as he fixed my make-up.

And I remembered Jonghyun, whose simple kind gesture and strong hand eased my mind. I remembered how lovingly he watched as Kibum fixed my face, and how that turned into fear the moment I caught that flash of rage. I knew his face seemed familiar. Kibum tightened his grip on my throat and I choked, the memory fading just as fast as it formed as blood rushed to my head.

“You were nothing then, but that wasn’t good enough for you! You had to turn into something. You had to bewitch my Jonghyun!”

_That night at the club, when the two of us had our fun. It was on impulse. We were strangers. So why…?_

My questions were jumbled in my mind, the simple act of processing thought quickly becoming far more taxing than it ever should. Blood pooled in my ears, creating the sound of rushing water, pooling around me. The world lost its solidity again, but this time there was no mystery: just pure light-headed bliss. His hands gripping my throat, his angry words, the struggle to fight against any of it: simply vanished.

Suddenly I was swimming. My body felts weightless. My voice died beneath the waves, blood filling my head. I found myself floating towards that space again, the endless clouds opening to embrace me, the clouds I couldn’t touch. Maybe I could now. Maybe I could do anything now. Maybe finally, I would be able to fly…

Then everything stopped. I came crashing out of the hallucinogenic state with a sudden shock, Kibum’s hands now loose around my neck. Everything in the room fell back into place as breath returned to my lungs. I coughed violently and could feel my hands again, lying flat out on either side of me. I hadn’t stopped him in a last-ditch effort to save my life. Something else stopped him. What was it?

It was Kibum’s turn to cough, and when he did blood spewed from his mouth and landed in a disgusting splash onto my face. I brought a hand to my cheek, collected the liquid onto my fingers and held it over my face. Blood, red as the sky was blue. He coughed again, coming into the reality that something was wrong, and released his grip on my neck. Almost in a daze, he sat up on top of me and turned his head to look back and up at the shadow that was Jonghyun, looming over him. My breath was shaky, growing more erratic as I followed his gaze. Jonghyun raised the bloody knife to the ceiling.

“Jonghyun. My…Petit…” He said, his voice transformed into something small and broken: betrayed. “You…really...”

“I love you.” Jonghyun cried, smiling. “Thank you, and goodbye.”

In one swift motion, the blade went in a quick horizontal slash across his neck. Blotches of thick red blood flew out in the same direction, splattering onto the floor in deep red dots. He made a final strangling noise before his body went rigid, and in a matter of seconds, fell flat on top of me. I coughed when the weight crashed onto me. Blood leaked from his open neck, warm and thick red lines trickling down the side of my chest, creating a deep pool beneath me. I screamed, loud and uncontrolled. I didn’t care if it was pointless. I didn’t know if anyone would hear me. I just screamed.

“Taemin-ah.” Jonghyun said tenderly, setting the knife down onto the floor. He leaned down and grabbed Kibum by his shoulders, then moved him off me, his blood spreading more onto my skin and the gash in his neck shifting grotesquely. He let go of him abruptly, letting the corpse topple over, landing onto one side. Even with the life absent from his eyes, I could feel him watching me. Lying there dead, listening to me scream. Frozen in death, forever questioning: why.    


	8. CHAPTER 8

“He was right.” said Jonghyun. Trembling, I stared up at him. His entire demeanor was calm, as if all was now right with the world. His bruises meant nothing. The dried-up tears on his face meant nothing. Even his own suffering meant nothing. He was free with only one focus: _me_.

“That outfit.” He continued, slowly turning to bend over, collecting the knife in his hand. “It was how we met. You don’t remember, but I do. It’s still so vivid. You came in, so bright and beautiful. My world was rotting then. I felt so lost, but you were a godsend, shining into the void.”

I struggled up on my elbows, lips quivering, crying. My legs felt like lead, heavy and hard to move as I tried backing away towards the door. Had to get out. Had to…run. Jonghyun turned back to me, smiling radiantly, then walked towards me very slowly.

“I saw them!” He raved, his eyes glazing over, dream-like and distant. He was gazing down at me, through me, to a shadow of myself that existed only in his eyes. “Taemin, they were so beautiful, shining and ethereal, expanding and coming to embrace me. I bet you don’t even know you have them.”

“I don’t know what you’re…you’re crazy- “

“Wings Taemin! Wings!” He exclaimed taking a big step forward, putting him in standing position above my knees, the knife dripping as he shook it in his hand. “You have wings. You’re an angel, Taemin. You came to save me.”

_I just wanted to fly…_

_Don’t listen to him you idiot! He’s fucking insane. He had you in a basement!_

I was crying, freaking out as he ranted and voices argued in my head. I managed to push up a little and move a leg, planting my heel into the floor so I could pivot and turn away. Jonghyun quickly grabbed me and pushed me hard onto my back, bringing his body down to straddle over me.

_Wings. Wings to fly…_

_Get away from him!_

“Shut Up!” I shouted madly. “You’re delusional. I shouldn’t have slept with you. I shouldn’t have even smoked that night!”

Jonghyun pulled back a little, staring at me in confusion. Then he sighed and smiled again, radiantly. He softly put a hand on my face. I shuddered as he stroked my cheek with his thumb, smearing the blood there, not minding it at all as he stared lovingly into my eyes.

“But they were dirty. _You_ were dirty. It was then that I realized that even angels can get lost too.” He said seriously, his facial expression darkening. “You were lost and ruined, just like me. I felt it. And I saw them, Taemin; your filthy wings. And I, like a hopeless human fool, dirtied them even more. It was fate that we slept together that night. It proved that we can’t survive here anymore, and that Earth is no place for an angel.”

A high-pitched sound cut through the air, and in my desperation, I thought for a moment that it was just wishful thinking. But then the sound swelled, swirling in and out of pitch, echoing through the streets, fast approaching. Jonghyun was distracted by it, turning to look towards the window. I wasn’t dreaming! There was a chance that they were coming for me. That I had gone missing and it was noticeable, that by a fraction of a chance they tracked things back to this house.

It was a chance I had to take. I had to put all my faith in it, because slowly but surely; I was considering what Jonghyun said sincerely. He was convincing me, swaying my sanity, because a little part of me wanted to believe him so badly. All I ever wanted, all I had to cling onto to get me through my fucked-up life, was the dream of flying. Did I finally do it? Did I finally earn my wings thanks to the cheers and prayers of thousands waving pearlescent sky blue glowsticks? Is that what they saw on stage when the spotlight beamed down on me? Is that the unexplainable sensation that rushes through me every time the music starts? Flying, with my wings spread wide, lifting me above the stage, beyond the auditorium, into the Heavens!  

 _Snap out of it!_ The brat shouted, driven by what was left of my rational mind. _He’s got a knife. He’s going to kill you!_

Jonghyun grabbed my hand, the knife in his, handle squeezed against my palm. He intertwined the three and forced them up to my neck. I trembled, gazing up into his blissful eyes as the tip of the blade scraped against my skin.

“Taemin-ah,” He whispered, the loud sirens almost drowning him out completely. “I’m ready. Let’s go to Heaven. Together.”

_To fly…to Heaven…_

_Fuck this!_

The survivor in me didn’t want what Jonghyun was offering. Wings. Peace. Death. That meant nothing to him, and as the blade sharply pierced my skin I came back to my senses and agreed that I didn’t want it either. I wanted to survive. Get out of this crazy house. Go home to the stage. To live. I screamed as it dug deeper, Jonghyun forcing it further in.

“Ngh. No!”

I got a knee up under him and managed to knee him in the stomach. He lost his grip on the knife and toppled over with a groan, dropping the weapon onto the floor. I scrambled to my feet, body aching and blood leaking from the fresh cut. Finally, I reached the door, swinging it open and hearing it bang against the wall. The sirens were louder than before and when I saw red and blue lights flash across the window I knew they were coming for me.   

“Taemin-ah!”

I whirled around and saw Jonghyun climbing to his feet. Without a moment of hesitation, I ran for the staircase, the opposite end of the narrow hallway seemingly a mile away as I heard him behind me. I didn’t dare to look back. I just ran. I reached the landing and galloped downwards, fear rushing my movements. The sirens were a chorus of church bells, signaling to my weary soul that I had finally found sanctuary. That everything was going to be alright. That the pain would soon fade. That the nightmare was ending. I was going to safety, floating magnetically to it, flying to it.

Literally flying.

When did my foot slip? When did my body decide that there was room for a critical mistake? Why did fate decide that now was the time to play the cruelest of jokes on me?  I was running too fast, bleeding too much, weak and weary. My legs buckled as I hit the second to last step, and the house spun as I fell helplessly to the floor. My ankle banged against the edge of the stair, sending a shockwave of pain through my leg. I groaned, laying on my side, my cramping calf throbbing as I lay there bawling.

“No!” I cried aloud. “No no no no no!”

The sirens were coming but I was quickly losing faith that they would ever make it. I wanted to laugh at the whole thing. At myself for thinking it was more than a passing ambulance truck, or a fire truck on its way to save people from a burning apartment building. No one was coming for me. No one ever did. Not my mom when that man beat me half to death. Not my manager when those men took me for their perverse entertainment.  I actually did laugh, madly and breathlessly, tears streaming down my face, the salt stinging the cut in my neck as tears slipped into the bloody opening. My hope, if I had any to start with, was completely destroyed. Slowly but surely, Jonghyun was coming down the stairs after me. His footsteps chimed like a death toll and his voice silenced the sirens, echoing through me, melodic and haunting, singing:

_You’re my love belt, hold me tight_

_Hold me in this nervous world_

_You’re my love belt, you know I’m shaking with anxiety_

_Hold my hand_

There was a loud bang at the door, but his footsteps were louder. People were shouting outside, but their words were inaudible compared to the thundering of my heart. Pain coursed through my entire body, striking nerve endings and making muscles throb. Fear rendered me still. The voice of the survivor: muted. My eyes fixed to Jonghyun as he came closer brandishing the blood-soaked blade, raising it over my head, smiling.

“Taemin-ah. Don’t be afraid.” He said in a gentle tone. “I’ll join you soon. When the darkness takes me, I’ll follow your light. Just wait for me.”           

I closed my eyes. Screaming, crying, doing anything other than accepting my fate suddenly seemed utterly pointless. What was I fighting for? What was I trying to live for? I already touched the sky. There was no point in flying, except to avoid hitting the ground. But in reality, I had been dead and buried beneath it for a long time, hadn’t I? Now I was leaping from one height to another, just to avoid my grave. But here it was, welcoming me, wanting me. It was time to stop and let my wings rest.

“… _The end of Lee Taemin…”_

 “Lee Taemin…Lee Taemin…Lee Taemin!”

What was that buzz, growing into a murmur, rising to a massive chorus, chanting my name?

“Lee Taemin! Lee Taemin! Lee Taemin! LEE TAEMIN!”

A vast crowd in the darkness, lit beautifully with that beautiful hue of blue. Speckling the darkness, filling it with waves of hands moving in unison, a shining pearl-like ocean. Fans, cheering, crying, smiling: for me.

“LEE TAEMIN! LEE TAEMIN! LEE TAEMIN!”

My eyes burned but I didn’t dare open them. I felt tears push through my eyelids and stream down my face.

_I’m sorry. I’m…I’m just so…tired._

Before the blade could connect there was a large bang. By the sound of it the front door had come off its hinges, smacking weakly against the wall as a parade of shoes rushed through the open doorway. Strong voices rose in a clatter as they shouted for Jonghyun to drop the weapon. Slowly I peeled my eyes open, and I saw a mass of men clad in black pants and polished black shoes rush at him, the knife dropping to the floor with a clank, bloody and abandoned. He disappeared screaming in the swarm, shouting my name as they tackled him to the ground.

I looked towards the open door and saw the outside. Stars brighter than any I had seen in my life. A sky of endless navy blue, inviting and tranquil. A breeze blew in, swirling around me and wrapping me in a soft cool blanket. Two men came into view, walking through the door wearing EMT uniforms, looking completely alienated from the police. One was very tall with strong-looking arms, the first to rush over and crouch by my side. He pulled a small flashlight from his pants and flickered in my eyes. I blinked a few times in response.

“Hyung, he’s responsive.” He said enthusiastically then put it away. He noticed the wound at the side of my neck and his large eyes grew wider. “He’s bleeding! A lot!”

“Can you not shout in his ear Minho-yah?” The second man advised, annoyance in his croaky voice. He stooped down on the opposite side of me, placing a heavy bag at his side. He reached in and pulled out a white packet, quickly ripping it open and pulling a thick white pad from it. He handed it off to the first medic, who took it into his gloved hand.

“Support his head, then press it firmly against the wound. We’ll check his vitals in the van.” He instructed. The other followed. I groaned when he moved me, as gentle as he could, and I could see the panic in his eyes. The older smiled at me, a bright welcoming one that was as inviting as that cool night breeze and brighter than the twinkling stars high above us.

“Taemin-ah.” He said gently. “We’re gonna get you taken care of. Don’t you worry. You’re safe now.”

I truly, with all my heart, believed his words were true. I took comfort in them, so this time when I closed my eyes I was calm. In the next few moments I was lifted onto a stretcher and being wheeled out of the house, finally free of my prison. I don’t know what this entire experience left me with, nor could I contemplate it at that moment. I was tired and could finally rest, knowing that when I did I could wake up somewhere safe. But I knew that no matter where I would go from here on out, I would hear Jonghyun’s voice calling my name, echoing through the depths of my mind.

**1 YEAR LATER**

I stood watching from backstage as a group of nine men danced with synchronized enthusiasm. Aside from the music, and some of their live voices projected through the mics; the voices of their fans were all that filled the studio. A bustling collection of screams and cheers, the crowd highlighted with blotches of white glowsticks; a cluster of stars in celebration of the universe that is EXO.

I fished into my pocket, pulling out a packet of cinnamon toothpicks. The boys were leaving the stage when I stuck one in my mouth, grinding it between my teeth, toying with the sweet wooded tip with my tongue. It had been a few months since I stopped smoking. I craved the nicotine, but my hands shook whenever I went to strike a match. Jonghyun’s face appeared every time, taking me back to our confrontation at the club.

“Smoking is…bad for you.”

Gum no longer calmed my nerves, but I still had the need to put something in my mouth. What I was doing up until that point all led to the same result. The gum, the smoking, the men; I needed a new alternative. This was by far the least destructive.  

The group shared in joyous relief, patting backs and hooking arms over sweaty shoulders as they left the stage. One approached me. Jongin was slightly younger than me, slightly taller, slightly more masculine, and more than slightly precocious. He would have followed Mom’s advice: _Go with your gut._ If I had, then maybe none of that would have happened. If I hadn’t, then maybe the stage wouldn’t seem so intimidating now.

He walked up to me, smiling warmly, and instinctively put a hand on my shoulder. While his smile held comfort, his eyes held concern.

“You can do this, hyung.”

I said nothing. The toothpick snapped between my teeth. His hand slipped off my shirt when I walked away to spit out the pieces into a small trashcan nearby. I replaced it with a new one quickly and returned to him. He was staring out at his fans, filing out of the open space in front of the stage, as another crowd holding glowing pearl blue diamonds replaced them. of him and his bandmates.

“They’ve been waiting a long time for you, Taemin.” Again, his hand was on my shoulder, but this time he held both and looked me in the eyes. “They need this, and _you_ need this.”

As anxious as I was feeling; I knew he was right. I could feel it in my soul as I looked past him at the people cleaning the stage for my performance. It took me a long time to dance again, or even leave my apartment. Jongin called, visited, did whatever was in his power to comfort me. My best friend who, in the middle of all of this, I had somehow forgotten about. Too busy wallowing in my own misery. He was hurt when he knew I was hurting, and the first person that noticed I went missing. If he hadn’t said anything, I would probably be…

“Taemin Oppa!”

One of the fans had spotted me, and in her excitement called the attention of the rest. I had almost forgotten what it felt like, to have so many eyes on me, to feel a flood of pure adoration and love. Jongin didn’t let go, even as some of the fans noted his presence and started taking pictures of us together. I didn’t even notice that I was shaking this whole time, until I had stopped completely, relaxing in his grip. He leaned his head forward, his forehead resting gently against mine, black and brown fringes entwined.

“Are you ready?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the toothpick fall carelessly out of my mouth. Fans were screaming. Stylists were looking for me. One of the EXO members came to get Jongin. I ignored it all and he let me. He just held me there, letting me find my peace. A rush of cold air shot down my shirt, the lose fabric fluttering against my skin. What was that sound? The flap of a wing? I opened my eyes and stared pass Jongin. The stage was ready for me, littered with pink flowers, my music playing from a recording machine as they did a sound check. There was a void in those flowers, only big enough to be filled by one person: me. That’s who I was. That’s who I had been fighting to be. Whom I was born to be. Beyond a crowd of pearlescent blue, in front of the cameras, beneath the burning spotlights. That high schooler who felt dead inside, but did an audition for a company called SM Entertainment, who came alive after given one order:

“Just dance.”

Jongin released me and smiled. He seemed satisfied. He must have seen it in my eyes when I looked at that stage, the conviction and certainty in what I was about to do. A staff member approached us and stood beside me.

“Taemin-ssi, are you ready?”

A studio filled with screams, shining blue. A stage littered with flowers, painted pink. A whirlwind of emotions whirling up inside me, waiting to burst free. I answered him without words, walking away from them with passion boiling up inside of me. I couldn’t wait anymore. I’d been stuck to the ground for far too long. I was ready to take off.

I was ready to fly. I was _born_ ready.

**Jonghyun’s POV**

The heavy steel door opened with a long squeal, then shut loudly behind the orderly. He was a burly man, with muscles that threatened to rip through his tight white uniform shirt. He made a face at me before coming close to the bed, releasing an exhausted sigh as he placed a clear cap of meds and small plastic cup of water on my table. I smirked up at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Now, Jonghyun,” He started impatiently. “Stop doing that. I’m really not in the mood.”

I put down my notebook and pen then scooted to the edge of the bed, eagerly consuming my 4th round of pills for the day. I swallowed hard and let out a refreshing sigh, happily handing both empty containers back to him.

“I didn’t do anything.” I shrugged, smiling up at him.

“Yet.” He suggested. He turned to leave. “You have an hour of writing and TV left. Use it well.”

A TV, a pen and a notebook. Those were the only privileges I was granted after months of earning my way in and back out of a straightjacket. I didn’t lie though. I wasn’t going to try anything. He got that scar on his neck from a very testy me, who had seduced him into undoing the straps and attacked him, because at that time the world was against me. He wasn’t afraid of me, but he was wary, and rightfully so.

I was grateful because it was all I had. It was a window back into his world, _Taemin’s_ world. I watched music shows, waiting for promotions to start again. I didn’t know when or if he would come back, but I spent nights with blood-shot retinas, hoping and waiting. When it finally happened, and he was back in the spotlight, I felt whole again. They took a piece of me away when they separated us, but I would have to settle for this. For all my charges and diagnosed craziness, it was the only choice I really had.

I walked across the room and sat on the cold floor, staring and smiling, leaving my work behind me. I wrote many songs, and I once again wrote my story, _our_ story, from all that I could retain. And there he was, sitting centerstage, a somber piano setting the tone for his song. He wore all black, his hair black and smooth atop his head, and I sat there watching in awe.

A chill shot down my spine and I trembled. I could see them again: his wings! Two massive feathered arms, folded down, trailing behind his back as he hunched over. And they were black! Black as the deepest parts of the vastest oceans. Black as the night when the stars hide and cities sleep. Covered in sin, made of sin: purified by sin. They were glorious, and only I could see them. His voice resounded through me and I was possessed to stand, filled with jubilation I never felt before. Then my dark angel reached to the skies, throwing his hands high over his head, his wings pushing the pink flowers littering the stage in a whirlwind around him.

I don’t care if anyone believes my story. I don’t care if the orderlies come in and put me down. I rejoiced because I couldn’t hold it in. I rejoiced because it was me who helped paint those feathers black. I rejoiced because God created Taemin, and he was a blessing to me, and I reveled in his glory, laughing joyfully, dancing around the room. Singing:

_You’re the work of God, a fatal mistake_

_I give thanks to your existence_

_Singing hallelujah, you got me singing hallelujah_

_Singing hallelujah, you got me singing hallelujah_

**END**


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